


idée fixe

by spacethyme



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Human AU, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV Second Person, Songfic, This is not a romance, aincest, angst maybe, mention of self-harm!, some horror, very small richter cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacethyme/pseuds/spacethyme
Summary: The fantastic symphony of your life, in five parts.





	idée fixe

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Hector Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique.  
> If you're familiar with it, you know what to expect. If you're not, well, heed the tags.

 

i

_Träumerein - Leidenschaften_

 

The first time you saw him, he looked like an ethereal being, and your heart skipped a beat.

 

On stage, there he was. Silver hair under the glittering golden light. The gentlest green eyes, the kindest, most pleasant face. His slender body wearing a sleek black tailcoat. He walked confidently, in an andante, towards the grand piano waiting for him at the center of the scene. He bowed. A chorus of applause, and you thoughtlessly joined along, too fixtated on the man.

 

You were smitten. His presence made the orchestra fade into the background, all blurred shapes and colours, your entire vision pinpointed on him alone. He smiled, and you felt as if he had smiled at you alone, instead of the audience. He hadn’t even started his performance, but you’re already at the mercy of this mysterious pianist with a radiant presence.

 

He lifted his hands, as elegantly as you thought he would, and laid his fingers delicately, light as a feather, on the keys. But then he started to play, and your breath was whisked away.

 

The low strings and woodwinds rolled in, murmuring, then there it was, loud and clear, pristine, the piano entered with the familiar melody of the piano concerto. It rose, fell, but then it escalated, faster, and it didn’t stop. You watched the pianist’s fingers dance on the keys with the utmost precision and the most refined technique, yet wholly filled with intense emotion. His back arched slightly with every crescendo and decrescendo, his eyes focused on the keys, the fingers. 

 

You sat in your seat, completely still. The pianist had weaved a spell, it’s sorcery, you felt all your bones growing weak, felt yourself limbless, frozen, as the harmonies and melodies consumed you, the sound of the piano carried you into a trance. And him, the man himself, as he placed his hands back on his lap when it’s time for the orchestra to take over, he stole glances at the audience, at you, and you caught the vivid, passionate gaze in his verdant eyes. Full of feeling, also still. Calm. Calculating. Counting the bars, waiting for his turn to take over, and once it came, and his fingers twirled away on the piano, you experienced it all over again.

 

The concerto’s forty minutes went by like what seems to be a passing hurricane. You hardly felt anything, and yet you felt everything at the same time.

 

There was a moment of stunned silence after the last note. Then the audience erupted, standing, screaming, wailing. Applause. The conductor motioned towards the pianist, and he stood up. The audience roared. You were still caught in his spell, however, and was utterly speechless all the way through. The commotion was tuned out, all your senses fixtated at the dazzling man.

 

Perfection. He was perfection. But how could perfection ever exist in flesh and blood? Such a man could never exist, such a man could only leap out of the land of dreams, and yet, there he stood. Bowing once, twice, showered by an endless stream of applause and awed noises from the crowd. He grinned, flashing his teeth, and the look on his face was one of pure joy. He was shining. Illuminating the hall with his smile alone.

 

A dream came true. _Your_ dream. _Your_ perfection.

 

At the end of the concert, you rushed backstage without a care, plowing your way through the mass of audience and musicians alike, just to see the silver-haired man. Upon finding him, you were unable to stop yourself, and let out a hasty introduction of yourself as an aspiring composer, followed by a stream of compliments, detailing each and every moment of his performance, letting out the highest of praise for his skill, stuttering a little along the way—Until he interrupted your rambling, which had gone on for far too long. He looked pleased, however, with no trace of malice or disgust in his eyes.

 

_“My greatest thanks! You are too kind.”_

 

He shook your hand, and you felt his smooth skin, his strong, dexterous fingers... You're seeing him so closely now, standing right in front of you, his eyes locked into yours. You feel as if your heart was about to burst out of your chest due to how rapidly it was beating. But most importantly, that silky voice. That warm baritone, possessing a magical lightness and flair. You wanted to hear more.

 

_“Sir, w-would you sing for me?”_

 

His brilliant green eyes widened, and you could see him fidgeting with a lock of silver hair, tucking it behind an ear (a helix piercing, and a little earring, both gold), smoothing out the braids in his hair, tied together neatly with a single green ribbon—Goddess, he was so charming even when nervous—  _“My dear... I am no singer.”_

 

_“I think you sound beautiful,”_ you gulped, _“Please, may I hear you sing?"_

 

His lips curved into a smirk, but a lovely shade of red blossomed on his cheeks. Was he flattered? Amused?  _“Ah, then let me just make something up quickly.”_  He paused for a bit, cleared his throat. Then he opened his mouth, and sang a humble tune. Merely a single musical phrase, so simple, but-

 

Oh, he sounded like an angel.

 

You relished his voice, drowning in it, letting the brief melody fill your entire being. By the time he finished—it was short, sweet—you could only look at him. Fifteen seconds of unprofessional singing, but you were paralyzed already. You stood there dumbly, a dazed, dreamy look on your face.

 

He laughed, a tinkling of bells, cheeks still red, smiled brightly at you again. You found your voice.

 

_“You are so very lovely. May I ask your name?"_

 

A chuckle. _“Have you not read the program booklet, my dear?_   _Call me Bluhen."_

 

With that, he turned around, his coat-tails fluttering, and he disappeared into the crowd. The otherwordly glow faded, replaced with the dull grey. The noise, the chatter came into your ears once more, the world was in motion, chaotic and scattered. A stranger bumped into your arm.

 

O, Goddess help you, you were lovestruck. Your mind was clouded with desire. With fervor, passion, lust, blazing fire! He was your _dream_! Everything you could ever want!

 

Bluhen, and

 

the song that he sang for you.

 

You carved it into your heart.

 

* * *

 

ii

_Ein Ball_

 

The Melody was haunting you.

 

Your desk was a mess, papers and manuscripts flying everywhere, dark blotches of ink staining the table, your clothes, everything. You had gone through composition by composition, but in the end, the notes would morph to the melody. Your mind would wander to Bluhen. It frustrated you, not being able to get anything done, but at one point, you started to embrace it.

 

A fresh sheet of paper, same old five bar lines. You transcribed the Melody.

 

There was the first phrase. You wrote down a second one. A little bolder than the bashful first phrase, containing all your yearning and pining, the song of your love. 

 

Love. Was it possible for you? Would you ever see him again? Did he feel the same way?

 

You continued writing. Insecure and apprehensive. The Melody takes a downcast tune, growing melancholic. The notes rise and fall, a few triplets nearing the end, and… a completed tune. You hummed it quietly, over and over, sighing, longing.

 

You looked at the clock.

 

It’s time to go.

 

 

 

 

 

The party was lively that night.

 

The ballroom was grand, with ornate pillars and glittering lights, a magnificent chandelier towering above. Couples in splendid dresses dancing in pairs. The standard waltz was playing, the men and women moving to the beat, and you supposed, it’s time for you to join in. The light, airy strings and the glamorous harps reassured you, but,

 

The waltz abruptly stopped. The world came to a halt. Silence.

 

The Melody entered, in a little waltz of its own. Ever so gentle, ever so precious… Oh, there, faraway, in the midst of silver and gold, it is he, your beloved, he was singing to you again, you took chase, diving into the crowd!

 

The Melody continued as you drew nearer and nearer, the strings started to join in, encouraging you. You ran faster as the Melody continued its course using your composition, the composition born out of your passions and anxieties, but as it neared the end, it got quieter and quieter, until the Melody disappeared entirely, replaced by a muddled, confused waltz. The man you were chasing, disappeared along with it, like a mirage.

 

You were going mad. Has it come to this? Were you so charmed by the alluring pianist, you started hallucinating him? The party continued, the waltz swayed on. The woodwinds tittered at your bewilderment, while the strings sustained the three beat structure of the waltz, as if nothing had happened.

 

You stood in the middle of the ballroom, alone, surrounded by dancers. The Melody overtook your mind again, but it left as quickly as it came.

 

The instruments laughed.

 

* * *

 

iii

_Szene auf dem Lande_

 

You retreated to the countryside, in hopes of finding peace of mind.

 

The evening sky was a warm orange, with speckles of pink and purple, and the faint golden sun slowly descended into the horizon. The breeze gently embraced you, running through your long hair, whistling softly as they passed through trees and grass. Nature enveloped you, beckoning you to rest.

 

You saw a figure standing in the distance, with what seemed to be a horn, surrounded by cattle. A shepherd.

 

They blew the horn, played a soft, simple tune. Ah, you knew this. Kuhreihen. A herding song. They’ve always kindled a hearty, nostalgic feel inside of you.

 

Out of nowhere, however, a second horn answered their call, lighter and higher in pitch, and the two were engaged in dialogue. A lovely duet began to arise, and it filled you with such tenderness.

 

You looked around for the second player, but they were nowhere to be found. There were only land and sky, and the lone shepherd with their sheep, as far as the eye could see. But the second instrument was heard loud and clear.

 

A few more back-and-forths, and they stopped. Replaced with nature’s ambience once more.

 

You’re left alone in your solitude, and you thought of _him_.

 

You lovingly conjured an image of him there, in the open fields. Dancing, swaying in the wind. He would fit right in, surrounded by various blossoms, though he would be the most beautiful flower of them all. And he would sing for you again, but this time you’d answer him, and you’d sing together, just like the shepherd and their partner, you’d sing the continuation of the Melody, and the two of you would start a life together...

 

After all, he had been nothing but amiable with you, hadn’t he? He’d been so nice and gracious. You placed a hand on your left cheek, feeling the scarred skin, lousily concealed by your hair. Surely, he saw your face, he saw how ugly you really were, the pathetic state you were in, but his glowing smile, his laughter, his song for you, were all genuine. You felt the sincerity in his words, the way they warmed your heart. You _knew_  it.

 

(The Melody, still following you, played. Hushed, nervous.)

 

But… oh, what if you were wrong?

 

What if the look he gave you was of pity? What if he thought you were disgusting and vile? Maybe he was faking it, maybe he was deceiving you, maybe he was _lying_. No one was that kind. Such a talented musician with such a beautiful face, he must’ve met countless people, and maybe he sang for them too when they asked. You weren’t special. He didn’t like you. He could never _love_  you.

 

You sank into the ground, clawing your face, your hair. The landscape didn’t feel like the soothing scene it used to be now, the emptiness of the field was imposing, oppressing you. The peaceful solitude turned to crippling loneliness. As the sun sank lower and lower, the grass was drained of its lush green, the landscape sombered, a lone silhouette rose up. The shepherd.

 

They took up their horn. Played it, the same old call.

 

 

 

 

No response.

 

In the distance, the thunder growled.

 

The shepherd continued, the duet now just a pitiful solo, lonely, abandoned, desperate.

 

The thunder roared, and the sky went dark.

 

 

 

Silence.

 

* * *

 

iv

_Der Gang zum Richtplatz_

 

You were out of control. Your mind spun. Everything had only gone downhill.

 

Your anxiety intensified with each day, suffocating you, taking over your mind. You couldn’t write, or compose, you could barely grip your pen. The Melody reigned supreme over your being, forbading you from thinking about anything else, just the Melody! Just him! _Just Bluhen_!

 

You wanted to end it all.

 

May this poison

 

put you to

 

 

rest.

 

 

 

 

But perhaps the Goddess

 

didn’t let you.

 

Maybe she wanted you to suffer.

 

You found yourself, in a blurry, foreign scape, battered, bruised, but very much alive.

 

(How disappointing.)

 

A few feet away from you, there stood, _him._  His back was turned.

 

Unable to contain yourself, you lunged and pinned him down. This man, _this man_ , and his cursed Melody, had ruined you. He sent your life into shambles. You snarled like a savage beast, pressing down on his throat, stronger, harder, more forcefully, and he struggled and sputtered and choked but you didn’t care, you wanted him— 

 

— _snap—_

 

—dead.

 

He stopped moving. His body went cold. You sat there, stunned, your hands still firmly curled around his throat. Your chest started hurting, you wanted to say something, but before you could speak, you were seized, and a sharp blow hit the back of your head. 

 

Everything went black.

 

When you awoke, you were in darkness, your hands bound with shining blue chains behind you. You couldn’t move. 

 

In front of you, a man dressed in white. Standing authoritatively, with large, sweeping wings sprouting out of his back, seemingly made of light. Gleaming blue hair cascaded down. A halo framed his face, and he looked down at you with a cold, distasteful glare, sending a chill into your bones. You opened your mouth, tried to speak, but your tongue was frozen stiff. His presence was overwhelming.

 

_The Judge,_  a voice whispered. _The Judge,_  followed another. 

 

The man raised his right hand, and a shining blade formed out of thin air. Suddenly, his outstretched his wings, and he shone, holding the sword above your head, bringing down the the weight of the Goddess’s judgement, his body morphed into a being of pure light that grows brighter and brighter and— 

 

Gone was the man, instead, in front of you, a straight and narrow path. Laid out for you. 

 

A shove from behind. There was no one there, but you were compelled to walk. Your body moved by itself. You heard the timpani pounding, followed by low brass. The sides of the path were filled with headless, winged figures, holding horns, trumpets, trombones, violins, a _full orchestra_ , and they played, as you made your way through.

 

You were marching. _Go,_ urged the brass, the percussion, the strings, the woodwinds, forceful. _Walk, march!_ Where? To where? The march was agonizingly slow, and each step felt so heavy, it’s painful to breathe, you were heaving, but then you saw it. A guillotine, on a scaffold.

 

Your execution.

You reeled, but your legs wouldn’t stop. No, not like this. Suddenly, you were scared. You didn’t want to die. The music was relentless, commanding, and it seemed to read your thoughts because it accelereated, a sharp crescendo, feeding off your fear. Violent cymbals pierced the air, making you jump, but the music quickly coerced you back onto your feet. You neared the guillotine, and your gait was hastened now, you saw the shining blade, the spot prepared for your head. You wanted to scream, protest, beg, _mercy!_  but your mouth was sealed. Helpless.

 

The winged figures led you up the scaffold, pushed you into your place on the guillotine.

 

Your face was wet with tears.

 

A brief, blessed silence...

 

...You heard the blade drop…

 

...

 

...Oh, Bluhen was singing to you. The Melody, slowly, sweetly, just like the first time you met. The Melody, your beloved…

 

 

_—crunch!—_

 

 

 

The orchestra cheered triumphantly.

 

 

Hurrah!

 

* * *

 

v

_Hexensabbat_

 

Had it been a dream? Or were you awake all along?

 

You couldn’t bring yourself to care. You lay there, in the (strangely open) coffin, numb. Unfeeling. Everything was dark, and deathly cold.

 

There was cackling. Laughter. Howling. They sounded malicious, and the ominous air was hanging thick. You couldn’t feel yourself, your limbs, felt like you were dismembered, couldn’t move, but somehow, you were hyper-aware of everything going on around you. And it wasn’t pleasant.

 

What a cursed fate you found yourself in, not being allowed peace, even after death.

 

There was music. Of course. They were always there. They were with you your entire life. And death, it seemed.

 

There were all sorts of noise from the most high-pitched cry to the deepest groan, and from the shadows of the abyss, out crawled disfigured, hideous creatures, monsters, disembodied eyes. Limbs and vaguely humanoid forms that looked like they have been shredded into grotesque ribbons. Entities made entirely of void, impossible to comprehend. The music riled up, and broke into a merry, jovial dance tune. The monsters chortled, and sprang to life. They danced to the beat, surrounding your lifeless body, your coffin and gravestone, and you could only watch, as they jumped and twirled and formed rings of dancers around you. A happy, cheery, round dance.

 

Their laughter was diabolical, and more vile noises sprung up. Loud chomping and gnashing of teeth, pained, tearful wails, to lewd and obscene moans. Disgusting.

 

In the midst of it all, a familiar tune emerged. The creatures stood still, as if to let the newcomer enter the circle of vices— 

 

_No. No, no, no, no._

 

The Melody.

 

No, it wasn’t—Yes, it was the Melody, there was no mistaking it. However, it had been warped. It was still there, in its core, this was merely a variation. But… It wasn’t the Melody you knew.

 

Gone was the sweetness, the tenderness, the bashful, innocent charm, instead it had been distorted to just another dance tune, and as it filled your ears, you internally screamed. Mocking, it was _mocking_ you, your death, _laughing_ at your misery! But where the Melody goes, someone was sure to tag along.

 

Bluhen was there.

 

Your beloved.

 

The monsters roared at his arrival, and welcomed him into the dance like an old friend. He gladly joined in. The disembodied limbs took his hands, and just like that, he joined the circle, laughing merrily (darkly) and smiled (baring his teeth). He paid no attention to you. The Melody morphed into the creatures’ dance theme, and finally, _finally_ , it was _gone entirely_. A mysterious force had erased all your memory of it, and you couldn’t recall it, couldn’t even try.

 

You couldn’t… feel… anything.

 

The world blurred, the chaos died down, only momentarily, and you heard bells.

 

You recognized them. They were the shrine’s bells, the Goddess’s bells.

 

A funeral knell.

 

_Dies irae, dies illa!_

Punctuated by loud, judgmental brass. You could still faintly see the monsters. And Bluhen with them. They didn’t stop dancing. The woodwinds were still singing to the round dance.

 

_Solvet saeclum in favilla!_

The bells kept ringing, the brass kept shouting, the creatures heeded them not. The violins returned with the dance theme. 

 

You wanted to cry, but you were unable to. You wanted to feel something, anything, but you were not allowed to.

 

The brass sounded again, the _Dies irae_ , but even that was deformed, and eventually incorporated into the monsters’ dance, becoming a sick, twisted parody of the requiem. 

 

Bluhen was still there, laughing, dancing, without a care in the world.

 

You looked down at your body. Black corruption from the abyss was slowly seeping up your arms and legs, eating at them. The darkness took hold of you, embracing you. It fell over your face, and an incorporeal hand stroked down your scarred cheek. You stole one last glance at your deteriorating self.

 

There was only a gaping hole on your chest where your heart had been.

 

You closed your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> [the idee fixe (the "Melody") originally by Berlioz, in oboe because I like oboe](https://vocaroo.com/i/s0Tm57Gn88b1)  
>  in this story bluhen sang the first phrase, and herrscher composed the rest to continue it.  
> [the piano concerto I had in my mind while writing the first part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FArWq5aBNfo)  
> the movement titles are the German translations of the symphony's original French titles: Rêveries - Passions, Un Bal, Scène aux champs, Marche au supplice, and Songe d’une nuit du Sabbat.
> 
> I don't even know what setting this is. Human AU, yes, but when and where, idk  
> pretend symphonie fantastique didn't exist here
> 
> well. this is a nice fic to unleash my inner drama queen since symphonie fantastique itself is the embodiment of Dramatic  
> fun fact, I had a dream I was about to be executed once. I was rescued by some dude with a magic guitar who summoned a giant flood to the place with the power of music and there was a flying whale and stuff.
> 
> I wrote this right after I watched symphonie fantastique live, in two days. I had inspiration on steroids.


End file.
